Feed me faith
by The Readers Muse
Summary: She didn't think she had a problem until the filthy, soot-streaked shape inside the charred circle of dirt and grass on her front lawn moved.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter One**_

"Hello," he greeted mildly. Completely shell-shocked. Looking down at himself like the freckles on his thighs were revelations rather than embarrassingly coltish curiosities. Squinting upwards until his eyes reflected the blue of the sky. Crinkling softly in the corners before one hand came up to shade them awkwardly - like he wasn't used to the action and muscle memory had failed him.

She didn't think she had a problem until the filthy, soot-streaked shape inside the charred circle of dirt and grass on her front lawn moved. Uncoiling cautiously, despite the warning she gave in the form of a cocking shotgun. Moving slowly, like every action was possibly combustible, until the shape raised his head and _oh_-

He looked up at her without the banal mask she remembered. Smudged with dirt and ash, with a blank expression that followed the cant of her hips as she tilted her stance and tapped the point of her boot into his thigh. Hair streaked a premature grey with hell-char and upset earth. Coating the divots of his collarbone - thick and filthy - as the Accountant's cock stayed soft, but sizable, in the crease of his lap.

Figured he'd have a dick to match his personality

"What did you do to get undouchified?" she finally hazarded, lowering the muzzle of the shotgun in inches as the man's face didn't so much as twitch. Looking up at her with such an open expression that it threatened to make her uncomfortable. Finding almost nothing familiar as she watched filthy lips part and a parched tongue flick out.

"So sorry, but- who are you?" the Accountant asked politely, or at least tried to. Voice unsteady and croaking in a way that had her turning on her heel before she remembered they weren't exactly friends. More like enemies, sort of. Refusing to overthink things as she snatched one her empties from the night before and filled it up with the garden hose. Feeling awkward and off-kilter as the weight of his eyes followed her across the lawn. Noting every action. Every curl of her bare toes in the dew-wet grass. But for once, _not_ like a predator studying its prey.

No, this was different.

It was like he was seeing it all for the first time.

Which didn't make any damn sense, but here they were.

"Piper, my name Piper," she told him, handing him the bottle with an encouraging tilt of amber-tinted glass. "Honestly, I didn't think you could forget. What happened to you anyway?"

She trailed off when she realized he was just staring at the bottle like a fucking moron. Like he didn't know what to do with it even as his tongue chased the salt-tracks of sweat already beading down from his forehead in the afternoon heat.

"Seriously?" she muttered, part disbelieving, part flat-out disturbed as she crouched down and held it up for him. Nudging surprisingly gently at the parted seam of his lips before she started to tip it.

Once the first few trickles made tracks he took to the mouth of the bottle like anything. Swallowing greedily - sloppy - one arm trying to twitch up and grab it.

"Easy, you'll make yourself sick," she cautioned, flinching slightly when she realized she could practically feel the heat - either from hell or an oncoming fever - radiating from his skin. "It ain't going no where, slow down- _hey_, I said slow!"

His lashes fluttered, long and dark like something out of a movie as he looked up at her. Throat working through the last swallow before he started wavering backwards. Half collapsing back on his elbows as his chest shuddered - breathing hard.

"Thank- thank you," he managed, sounding a bit more like his old self, at least in tone. Effort that was mostly ruined considering he looked like he was about to pass out at any moment. Expression more confused than hunted as kept his eyes only on her.

"What happened?" she asked again. "Is Milton-"

He shook his head, hands curling into the blackened grass like a tell anyways. Enough for her to get the just of it. Whatever had happened? _It_ _was_ _big_. Big enough that the man who'd called himself The Accountant, who was in charge of every damned soul there was, was at her mercy. Naked as a jaybird with no idea how or even why he'd gotten here.

_Fucking_ _great_.

She blew out a frustrated breath. Chewing on her lower lip before finally committing to the awkward crouch and let herself fold down beside him. Sitting cross-legged on the other side of the charred circle as the fading stench of sulfur threatened to make her wretch.

"Look, if you're in some kind of trouble, some heaven and hell, angels and demons bullshit- I can't help you. The baby is napping and I-"

He cocked his head.

It was so similar to how he'd been back on the road, chasing after her and Milton, she nearly flipped herself backwards. Half-convinced it'd been some sort of act and he was about to drag her under by the ankles. Screaming bloody fucking murder the entire way.

But instead of any of that, the sudden and very distinct gurgle of an empty stomach aired between them. The sound making him frown as he looked down at himself. Hand and pressing weakly against the trembling, slim-fitted muscles of his belly like nothing in his life had ever prepared him for the feeling.

She was still trying to process it when he looked over at her. Innocent, but absolutely habit-forming as she bit off a curse. Expression banal and open, expecting nothing and everything as she thumped her head into her hands and cursed again.

_Unfuckingbelievable._

* * *

It took forever to coax him into eating, but eventually he took to her runny egg scramble and some of the potato hash Webster had left in the freezer the last time he'd been down the same way he'd taken to the water outside. Violently and grateful.

"We met a while back," she told him from the other side of the kitchen. Coffee stone cold but too lazy to go over and nuke it as she took a sip of it every so often, just to keep the nerves down. Leaning up against the counter as she eyed the angle of the blanket still piled in his lap after she'd tossed his naked ass into one of the shitty kitchen chairs. "You really don't remember?"

He jumped slightly, startling himself when his fork scraped across his empty plate.

"Apparently not," she answered with a sigh. Setting her cup down a bit harder than necessary when a sleepy cry issued from the baby's room. "Stay here."

By the time she'd changed Amber-May's diaper and got her settled, the Accountant was slack and dead asleep in the kitchen chair. One hand swaying into empty space, the other loose around the folds of the blanket in his lap. Barely preserving the last shreds of his modesty- if you could call it that.

She waited until sundown before she finally eased him awake enough to drag him over to the couch. Trying and failing not to be bothered by the fact that the man's bare ass was sinking into the cushions of the second-hand couch she'd actually grown fond of over the past year and a half.

She didn't sleep that night.

Instead she watched the shadows move across his face. Remembering the moment in the tower above Jonah King's compound when he'd shoved her behind him. Protecting her in a way she'd neither understood nor appreciated until much later. Wondering what could take the closest thing she figured there was to a god and leave him weaker than a newborn lamb.

She didn't want to know.

But at the same time, she knew it was too late for back-stepping.

She figured if this situation was a pile of shit, it was one they'd _all _stepped in.

Herself included.

* * *

He was still on her god damned couch the next morning.

She blinked herself awake, wincing as she eased the crick in her neck into something a bit less painful. Yawning as sore muscles protested the same way the chair she'd spent the night in creaked. All dry wood and bad tempered as she slowly got to her feet.

Still, he didn't move.

Hell, it was only the rise and fall of his chest that showed he was even still breathing.

She frowned, eying the pale trail of chest hair that escaped into the blankets. Mentally calculating how long it had been since she'd gotten laid before she rolled her eyes skyward. Already able to hear her mother's screech rebounding inside her head as he slept on, none the wiser.

It took her longer than it should have to pull herself away and get ready for the day.

* * *

She'd just finished feeding the baby from the highchair by the window when she glanced over and found him watching. Sitting upright on the couch, pale skin almost translucent with the glow of the sun peeking through the blinds.

"Look who's finally up," she hummed cautiously, swinging the baby over her hip with an ease she would have never imagined just over a year ago. Back when her life was a mess and she could barely afford to put gas in the car until Webster forced her straight and made her come live with him for nearly half a year. Helping her with Amber-May and all the fucking bills that comes with babies and being on your own in the world. "We thought you'd sleep till the second coming, yes we did."

Amber-May just gurgled happily. Letting out a rude burp when she bounced her, jiggling her baby fat as the little girl squealed with laughter like the entire affair was just the best thing ever.

"Unless that's right now? Which- if it is, I've got to say, you have crap timing."

The Accountant just stared. Blinking slow like a sphinx.

She rolled her eyes.

"Here" she offered, gesturing at a pile of clothes she figured might fit. A weird mixture of Webster's odds and ends and a few one night stands who'd left about a set of clothes between them. "They aren't what you're used to, but they're clean. Better than walkin' around naked anyway. The bathroom is down the hall. So, for gods sake, have a fucking shower, you're filthy. And if you think I am helpin' you with that you've got another thing coming. You'll figure it out. Hot water takes about a minute, so watch you don't get scalded."

Her skin itched under the weight of his gaze as she criss-crossed the apartment. Grabbing her keys and making sure the oven was off, all while trying to tie up her uniform apron one-handed.

"You can stay here today, I guess. I work till six and pick-up Amber-May from the sitters, so you'll probably be on your own till quarter to seven. You so much as break a plate and I'll have your balls. This place might be a shithole, but it is my shithole, got it?"

He had his damn head cocked again, so she figured that was it. Leaning down to pick up Amber-May in her carrier before-

"Thank you," he murmured. Sincere and quiet in a way that made her still. One hand frozen on the door knob as she wondered exactly what that meant coming from someone like him.

"Your welcome," she returned, for lack of anything better to say. Unknowingly setting the bell curve for a whole new future neither of them were prepared for.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. Stay tuned for the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter Two**_

The next week or so carried on like that. With the two of them - three if you counted the baby - stuck in an awkward rut that only she seemed to be dwelling on. She got up, avoided him, slammed down breakfast and watched him fuss with the collar of one of Webster's old shirts in the reflection of the stainless-steel toaster. Getting a satisfied sort of pride in seeing him clean his plate as Amber-May cooed at him through the screen of her pack and play. All before escaping off to work with barely a handful of words exchanged.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

They didn't talk about it.

_None_ _of_ _it._

Not the hows or the whys.

When he was going to leave.

If he even had a name.

Or why the charred circle of burned grass on her front lawn still smelled like-

Near as she could tell, he spent most of the time sleeping. Like he'd gone his whole damn life without it, gotten his ass handed to him, then decided to hole up here and catch up. Why here, she had no idea. Why her, well, she had even less of one considering she'd thanked him for saving her by pulling the God Killer on him.

They didn't speak much, but that didn't stop her from thinking about it. Every day the entire thing ran over and over in the back of her mind as she waited tables. Trying to figure it out. Because the thing was, it wasn't like he was completely out of it. He might have gone and lost his memory, forgotten who he was, but there were still things that reminded her of The Accountant. His fastidiousness. The two showers a day that was wrecking havoc on her hot water bill. The careful way he did things. Every footstep and action so god damned precise. The way he favored the grey-pleated dress shirt one of her weekend flings had left lost under her bed. And the way he originally tried to button it all the way to the collar – stiff and half-suffocating – before relenting and undoing the top button.

Sometimes she could even trick herself into thinking it'd all come back to him when he did something that reminded her of how he had been. But it never stuck. Who he'd been back when she and Milton had been on the run? It wasn't him anymore. Whether it was his memories, powers or all of that combined, he wasn't the same. For better or worse, he was starting to become his own person. Now, instead of supernatural powers he used his body cautiously, like he wasn't sure of his limits. But at the same time, he seemed to have a good working knowledge of most things. Case in point, she'd gotten home on the third day to find the dishes washed and the television on. Playing CNN on repeat while he snored softly into the couch cushions. A space that was gradually turning into capital letters: _HIS.  
_  
She probably should've been more bothered by that, but she wasn't.

The baby wasn't much company, if she was being honest.

So, the days passed and he got better, stronger - slowly.

And in spite of her best efforts, she started adding more little quirks to the pile of broken parts that was his personality. For example, he didn't like to get dirty, but would for the reward of neatness and order. Something she discovered after dragging ass from a triple shift to find dinner made, the trash out, and the entire kitchen cleaned and reordered with an efficiency that tempered the righteous anger she'd spent all day waiting to take out on someone. How he managed to act like one of Webster's old shirts was one of them expensive suits he used to wear. Often reaching up to tug at a nonexistent lapel or sleeve like it was the only muscle memory he had left. Or the way he look a liking to the fresh veggies that came in the charity hamper from the church down the road, rather the ones from the can.

All in all it was very- well_, human._

She sighed, staring into her mostly empty bottle of Jim Bean as he watched her from his perch on sofa. Expression still softly predator-like, but now mostly just curious. Like if he watched her for long enough she'd crack and spill the secrets of the universe.

She shook her head, feeling a liquor-headache coming on.

_Shit, she needed to eat somethin'._

He just fucking stared. Blink'in all slow like. Like she was the-

She shook her head, lips twisting as she hauled back another swallow.

"_Devils and demons…once you open those doors you just can't close them."_

Her thoughts rebounded in her skull as the shadows threatened to stretch in the moonlight. Remembering when she'd said it. Remembering how Milton had looked at her – part disbelieving, part resigned. She liked to think he would have asked her about it if they'd had time. Her momma had believed in all that shit, it was what she'd grown up on. If hell came knocking, you got out of its way. You _didn't_ stand up. You _didn't_ stick your fucking hands in, just like she'd done.

But Milton had sucked her in and now here she was.

Babysitting a god damned _demon_ from hell.

She'd had fuckin' enough.

"Alright, we have to talk," she finally rasped. Voice liquor-rough as he startled back a good half-inch into the couch at being called out. Looking small in the oversized wife-beater he'd taken to wearing at night after he showered. "I think it's time you got a bit more verbal, huh? I don't know what happened, maybe you don't even know, but we won't know till we hash it out. It's time for answers, man. Whether you have them or we go find them. Things can't keep dragging on like this. You're almost recovered from- well, whatever happened. Don't think I haven't noticed. I mean, maybe I can help, you know?"

_She wanted to help._

The realization only got more damning the longer it festered.

Still, she didn't say it.

At least not out loud.

His nod was surprisingly frank when he finally chewed through the tangle of words. But not followed by much else until she gave him the fish eye. Rousing him from whatever place he went to mentally most of the time.

"My apologies," he started slowly. "You've been more than kind. More than anyone could ever hope, given the circumstances. I owe you a debt, Miss Piper."

"Just Piper," she corrected, snorting. "Do I look like a miss to you?

She ignored him when he went quiet again. Letting him process on his own time. Knowing from experience this kind of shit could be just as dangerous brought back up as it'd been the moment it'd happened. The mind was a can of worms just waitin' to explode. That much she knew for sure.

"I don't remember," he finally offered, head cocking as Amber-May cried herself awake in the other room. Making them hush on reflex until she burbled a bit and slowly slipped back to sleep.

"I get that," she answered after a good thirty second chunk of quiet. Tossing her hair impatiently as he teetered on the edge of the couch. Leaning forward in a vain attempt to stop getting sucked into the empty space between the cushions. "But there has to be something. I'll make a deal with you. You tell me everything you know, and I'll tell you what I know. That alright?"

He hadn't even finished nodding before he turned a good start into a pipe dream.

"Who is 'The Accountant?'" he asked, bare feet curling in the ugly shag carpet. Just another reminder that she hadn't gotten around to getting him shoes yet. _Shit._

"A pain in my ass," she muttered, the corner of her lip tugging upwards in a smirk when he had the gall to look mildly offended. If you could call that tiny little twitch an expression. Believe it or not, she was starting to consider that progress.

Still, it didn't escape her notice that it was the first real question he'd asked her.

"You are- _you_ _were_\- that's what you were, I guess," she answered slowly. Speaking around the awkwardness and booze buzz. "Believe me, it's hard to explain. Honestly, I don't even know the half of it. You were never exactly chatty."

His head tilted to the side, a small frown marring the flat of his forehead before-

"I don't understand."

She blew out a sigh.

"Join the fucking club."

* * *

It was only afterwards, when she'd finished the bottle and a pretty shitty attempt at an explanation, that he finally broke the silence.

"You feel familiar," he told her quietly. Throwing her so unbelievably off-kilter she didn't know what to say. "Safe."

"What?"

"You asked me what I knew- what I know? That's it. Everything I was before? It's…erased. But when I saw you, when I looked up and you were there, standing above me, I wasn't afraid."

In another life her heart might have broke.

But in this one it just left her feeling heavy.

_Responsible_.

* * *

"Shit," she snarled, slamming the phone down hard. Making both him and Amber-May look up from the table with varying degrees of concern. "The sitter has the flu. Fucking god damn _shit_!"

He blinked, serenely ignoring both her and Amber-May as the baby waved her plastic Cinderella spoon at him hopefully. Crunching his way through the last mouthful of brad buds she'd gotten half off at the store like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

She paced the length of the kitchen, hands on her hips. If she called in sick she'd be fired for sure. Derek the dick, also known as the manager, had the patience of a hemorrhoid and half the personality. When he wasn't perving on the new waitress, he was riding her ass for her life choices. If she didn't need the job so bad she would've lit the bastard on fire months ago.

"Shit," she said again, catching sight of the time. Fact was she couldn't afford to lose her job. She'd barely been making ends meet before Mr. new mouth to feed had shown up. And she didn't even want to know what the baby's next appointment was going to cost her, even at the reduced clinic on the other side of-

"I can watch her," he offered, looking up from his empty bowl as Amber-May squealed indignantly, bouncing in her high chair as she made grabby hands at the floor. Clearly wanting down. Speaking like he was working through a mouthful of rocks. Like he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

_Huh_.

"Look," she started bluntly, realizing it was probably her only option even as she tried to distance herself from it. "I know we had that heart to heart yesterday- but I don't know if I'm comfortable leaving her alone with you. No offense."

"I won't hurt her," he replied with a frown. The tint of something like anger coloring his tone for the first time as he pushed back his bowl.

"Jesus Christ, of course not! It ain't that," she protested. Huffing and coloring at the suggestion. "I mean more like… do you even know how to change a diaper for god sake?"

He blinked again, all slow like.

"I'm sure I can figure it out," he answered slowly. Eying Amber-May carefully as she blew a spit bubble at him. "I've watched you do it enough times to have a general idea. It doesn't seem complicated."

She raised a brow.

This was going to be good.

* * *

"I think I've done this before," he remarked softly from the couch. Looking up at her through sleepy slits as she stared down at them, stunned stupid and still wearing her apron from the diner. Amber-May passed out cold and curled up like a pill-bug into the crook where his shoulder met his chest.

"What does that mean?" he asked, tilting his head up like he was addressing the dust motes. Tone more introspective than anything, the way people got when they weren't really expecting an answer. "I spent all day feeling it and I don't know what it means."

She didn't know either.

But it made her think about the practiced - almost _reverent_ way he'd held Amber-May in the courtyard after Milton had blasted Jonah King to kingdom come. Realizing that _yeah-_ somehow, somewhere, sometime he probably had.

The words she didn't know how to say were razor sharp trip ups. But she sat down beside him on the couch all the same. Inhaling the mingling scents of soap, baby and the fading highlights of her shampoo in his hair. Figuring at the end of the day, silence was the better option. She wasn't sure if there were words for that kind of a backstory.

* * *

When he drifted off sometime later, gravity encouraged a gradual lean. Dipping the cushions towards her until their shoulders brushed and Amber-May's fist had the front of his shirt tight in her palm. Drooling contently into the line of his neck.

The warm weight of him made her aware of herself somehow.

Turning every movement, every inhale, into something significant.

_Sensitive._

His chest rose and fell like every other predictable thing in the world. And yet- there was something about him, _this, _that she couldn't put her finger on. And it was only getting worse.

She winced as she toed off her shoes and propped her aching feet up on the coffee table. Wondering if Milton was down there somewhere, laughing his ass off. She wouldn't put it past him. Not him. _Not ever._ Hell hadn't been able to tame him the first time. So she figured that would stay the same, no matter who was in charge down there.

Somewhere outside a car engine revved, loud and oil-healthy in a way that made her smile. Catching sight of her reflection in the dead screen of the television as the two of them breathed softly beside her.

And if she ended up falling asleep like that, well- he was smart enough not to say anything.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. - Stay tuned for the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter Three**_

Eventually it became the new normal. She went to work, he watched the baby and most days she even got dinner out of the deal. She used the money she saved on the sitter to buy him the basics, so they could at least pretend he was a normal human being. Things like underwear, a comb and the package of undershirts they'd immediately had a screaming fight over when he placed them in the cart.

Well, at least she'd done the screaming anyway.

Taking him to the mall was an entire three-hour ordeal. Buying him shoes and clothes that actually fit. Making an educated, _very educated_, guess about underwear and socks sizes before cruising over to the hygiene section only to feel her soul dribbling out her ears as he insisted on smelling every single god damned stick of deodorant in the place before settling.

She used the opportunity to buzz back and forth down the aisle, picking up a pack of disposable razors and shaving cream, toothpaste, toothbrushes and his own shampoo that smelled similar to the deodorant he'd picked. Figuring it was high time he stopped smelling like her and wasting her salon specials.

He was reading the back of a bottle of face cleanser when she finished and for a long moment she just couldn't help but stare. Before all this, the Accountant had been a pillar. A strong, immovable force in an expensive suit and an open smirk. He'd smelled like sulfur and feathered-dust, charcoal and earth. He'd looked at her like he knew her, but had never seen anything like her all at once. Like he could see everything she was, had been, or ever would be, but she was still an oddity in a God's eyes. And now here he was, standing in the skincare section of Walmart in a worn pair of jeans and a white dress shirt that was just a bit too big. Sporting two week old stubble and long fingered hands that liked to spread out and skim over as much of the world as possible. Touch starved and curious.

It was surreal as shit.

_Was he ever going to get back to what he'd been, or was all that just gone forever?_

_And was it a good thing if it was? _

_How badly did you have to fuck up to get kicked out of hell?_

Near as she could figure, stripping someone of their memories was as about as cruel a thing you could do to a person. Especially to someone like him, someone who'd been part of all.  
And now he was just…_him_.

Stripped down like a car without an engine.

Without a purpose save for changin' diapers and cooking her dinner.

Hell, he didn't even have a name.

She looked up, guilty. Reminded yet again that they hadn't had that conversation yet, only to do a double take at the empty aisle.

_Fuck!_

* * *

She found him ten minutes later browsing the men's section. Where a sad little section of cheap suits she couldn't afford hung limp and wrinkled. The entire thing making her irrationally angry as he attempted to straighten them on their hangers. Pissing her right to hell that she couldn't buy him even the shittiest one on the rack, just so he could feel normal.

Naturally, there was only one thing left to do at that point, save for armed robbery.

She marched the two of them over to the Diary Queen and ordered them ice cream cones dipped in chocolate. Forgetting they were broke after the baby face planted into her bowl and he got ice cream down his shirt after biting into the cone like a god damned idiot. Laughing the entire way home at his unimpressed look. Occasionally reaching back to keep Amber-May's head out of the mess as she slept on, none the wiser.

It kind of felt like a good day for once.

But things really started feeling like _something_ when she got home early one day and caught him holding Amber-May in the living room. Swaying slow and gentle as the TV played soft, sixty-year old jazz from a music channel she hadn't known existed until just then. The two of them damp from a recent shower - his hair curling wet against his neck as a low, base-line hum slipping from his throat as they moved. Dancing around with an easy smile as Amber-May snuffled a sleepy giggle into his shoulder.

It'd snuck up on her.

This feeling, whatever it was.

The one that told her she could get used to this.

_That_ _she_ _liked_ _this_.

It was dangerous, she knew, and maybe once upon a time that would have meant something. But now it just felt right. Like ever since Milton had come out of nowhere and into her life, _this_ was where things had been heading all along.

And for a change, things actually got better for a while after that.

* * *

It evolved into the three of them eating dinner together at the kitchen table. Watching movies on the couch and talking about nothing in particular as they cleaned up from breakfast and folded the laundry. Going from strained evenings to this whole new thing she'd liked from the beginning. Encouraging it like it was the best sort of vice as even he got animated - excited - in his own way.

He watched her read until she'd slammed a book into his hand, and from there on, he burned through every book in the house. He beat her at chess every single time with the set that'd been there when she'd moved in. The one that was beat up and missing pieces they'd replaced with bottle caps and the smooth little rocks the baby liked to dig out of the dust and sneak inside when she wasn't looking.

Before long, Amber-May was just as likely to reach for him as she was for her. And she barely paid attention to watching him watch the baby because, true to his word, the man seemed to have a sixth sense as far as Amber-May was concerned. Knowing how to cheer her up before an oncoming meltdown. How to sooth her when she woke up at night, creeping into the bedroom she didn't lock anymore to scoop her up so she could get some sleep before her morning shift. Dwelling more and more on the way his face lit up when Amber-May laughed. Finding joy in the simplest things as she smiled at them from the kitchen. Leaning against the counter as she tried to make her coffee last and the minute hand slow down before she had to run out the door to make it to work on time.

Domesticity was a good look for them, she figured.

* * *

"What are you doing out here?" she asked one night, stepping down from the porch with her arms crossed over her chest. Rubbing her arms at the evening chill as he turned to face her.

She was surprised when he looked almost embarrassed. Like she'd caught him doing something he shouldn't be.

"Listening," he answered quietly, too quietly. Looking off and away like the expression on her face was contagious.

"Listening, huh?" she commented airily. Pretending not to catch on to the tension. Coming to stand beside him, bare toes curling in the grass. "To what?"

The night was soupy and thick, like most summer nights around here. But this one was cold enough to make her shiver as he canted his head to the side. Fingers spread like he could feel the air moving between them despite the suffocating still.

It was going to storm.

Probably tomorrow or the day after.

You could practically feel it coming.

Something mean and dark that would have everyone on edge. Something that could turn into tornado sirens and the reality that she didn't know shit what to do next.

"Everything," he answered simply.

She looked off in same direction. Past the open country sprawl, the fallow fields and rusting farm equipment that went on for as far as the eye could see. It was one of the reasons she'd chosen to settle here. It was isolated - no neighbors within three miles and a big ol' stretch of sky between her and the highway. There was a barn and a rat-infested house further up that her landlord was trying to sell, but other than that it was hers. _Theirs_.

"I feel like I could hear more...before."  
_  
He had._

_That much was obvious. _

If the world and all the people in it had a rhythm, he'd had the ability to listen in. Hell, he'd been part of it. It was only after the fact, when she'd kept herself awake questioning every shadow, that she realized how seamless he'd been. His confidence had been ancient, but the way he'd gone about chasing Milton down? Well, that'd been uniquely him. The only time he'd ever been thrown off kilter was when Milton had pulled out the God Killer and aimed right down the barrel. Not like when she'd done the same in that tower. With Milton, The Accountant had known he was ready to pull the trigger. Not like her. _Not with him.  
_  
"It's strange," he continued, surprising her by continuing when she was used to short sentences and clipped words. "I feel like everything is familiar, but at the same time nothing is. I know I used to have it. _I used to know_. But now it's just...gone."

She twisted her tongue around a thready exhale. Wondering all of a sudden what he saw back then when he looked at people. Did they have expiration dates flicking like dying neon signs above their heads? Could he see intentions? The future? The past? What were the limits? What exactly had he lost other than just a purpose?

Speaking of-

"You know, I can't keep saying 'hey you,' or refer to you as 'The Accountant,' even if it is just in my head," she posed firmly. The hairs on her arms prickling as the humidity turned almost suffocating. "It's awkward. So…got any ideas?"

He canted his head, somehow managing to look uncomfortable and contemplative at the same time.

"You could pick one," she suggested.

He shook his head.

"Names are given," he answered firmly. The collar of the navy dress shirt he'd picked out at the store ruffling in the breeze. Making him look soft rather than stuck up. Approachable. Kind.

"So are titles," she pointed out mildly. Tracing her big toe in the dry dirt in front of her.

"Names are different," he insisted, in that quiet way she recognized as him putting his heels in. "Besides, I assume the title was given to me, not an occupation I created?"

She shrugged.

_Hell, for all she knew it was._

"How did you pick her name?" he asked after a moment. Looking back at the house where Amber-May was already down for the night.

"I don't know, it just seemed right," she answered. Remembering the horrified embarrassment that'd slicked through her when she realized she didn't know. Eventually wondering out loud if Milton had even known, voice cracking parched as Webster jumped behind the wheel. Startling themselves with the first words either of them had spoken in hours.

He nodded, self-satisfied.

She just blew out a frustrated breath.

"If that's what you're waiting for, I get that, but you're going to need to pick one eventually. Webster can't get finish up your I.D and shit until you do. Unless you want him to chose for you, which I don't recommend. He's not exactly your biggest fan, considering Milton and all. He nearly blew his stack when I told him you'd showed up back when."

He made a face before responding primly.

"Point taken."

"How about we work on it? You and me?" she offered suddenly. Meaning it as he looked over at her with a surprised expression that gradually upgraded to a nod and a slow building smile.

"I'd like that."

* * *

"Where are the candles? Shit! Wait- here they are- can you grab the matches? They're on top of the fridge, I think?"

The storm the next night knocked out the power while they were eating dinner. Making it dark enough that she didn't notice anything was wrong until she caught how his hands were shaking as he rattled with the matches and tried to get one to light.

The flame flared eventually. Filling the air with the tang of burnt chemicals, sulphur and the fading stink of pine. Only to huff out of existence when he dropped it almost as quickly. Getting a glimpse of a flinch that had nothing to do with the flame flirting between his fingertips.

"Hey, hey it's alright," she soothed, feeling her way over to him as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Carefully prying the box from his hand before she set it aside. Making sure he could feel her weight against him before she pulled out another match. "I'm going to light another one so we can see what we are doing, okay?"

The jut of his chin as he nodded was more sensed than seen, but she waited for it regardless as Amber-May let go of an unhappy cry from her high chair.

She felt the flinch less this time, but still damning as she lit the candle and tossed the match into the sink. Letting it hiss as it hit the pasta water cooling in the pot.

"It's alright," she said again. Finding his hand in the dark without really thinking about. Lifting it up and rubbing it. Breathing humid-warm on his fingers like he was just cold, not paralyzed.

"What is it?" she whispered, catching the flash of lightening through the window. Counting the seconds before the thunder rolled. Close, but not too close.

"I don't know," he gritted, fisting her hand gently when she squeezed it. Wondering if the cold sweat breaking out across his forehead was due to the dark, the flames, the storm, the smell- or all of it at the same time.

"Well, I'm here," she told him, wincing a bit. Hoping it didn't come out as pathetic as it sounded. Not knowing the first thing about this type of comfort as the muscles under his skin twitched and jumped like a frightened horse.

"I know."

His answer was an unfinished sentence that ate at her.

Bothering her enough that she couldn't leave it there.

"I won't let anything happen," she assured. Stupidly wondering when she'd started making promises she knew she couldn't keep. Not realizing how much she hated the tension practically vibrating from him until it was all that was filling the space. Edging out the oxygen.

He didn't say anything. Watching Amber-May mush peas into her tray through the thin candlelight as the storm lit up the distant sky.

"Com'on," she eventually urged. Judging when it was time to try for something more ambitious. "Let's finish dinner before it gets cold."

It might have even been romantic, eatin' pasta in the candlelight. You know, save for the PTSD and the mushed peas that somehow ended up in her hair. But she figured since it made him smile, maybe it was romantic anyway.

* * *

They put Amber-May to bed that night together. Juggling candles and sleeping baby as he smoothed a fresh sheet down in the crib and tucked the mustang plushie Webster had shoved in her face the first week safely to the side.

And while god knows she was tired, she ended up sitting up with him during the night. Not on opposite ends of the couch, but somewhere in the middle as the power whumped and shuddered - vainly trying to come back on. Forgetting to care as wax started pooling across the coffee table. Too busy listening as he started reading aloud from one of the trash novels that'd been left in the hall closet by the previous renters to think about the fact she had to work at five tomorrow morning.

Funny how life really was all about the little things.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – Stay tuned for the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter Four**_

She was cleaning tables at the diner a couple of weeks later, thinking about it. Pulling a double shift because her manager had flown the coop early for some sort of family emergency. Leaving her alone till close as time dragged. There were only a handful of people and most of them were mainlining coffee refills, so it gave her time to think about things.

Mostly about The Accountant and the way things seemed to be changing lately.

Usually she wasn't much for introspection and even less for settlin' down. Minus the big ass mistake that'd been Frank. She was a realist. More than that, she knew her place in the world and curbed her wants and desires accordingly. She'd gotten burned before for wanting more, and she liked to think her mama hadn't raised a fool.

But still, the feeling had staying power. That full throttle, pedal to the metal sort of thrust that had the potential to open the horizon if she let it. Life really was crazy like that, she guessed.

She dumped the grounds out of the machine and eyed the level of the nearest cups against the hands of the clock. Wondering if it was worth putting on a new pot just to save some hard feelings.

Things had been different since the storm and that night on the couch. Up until then he'd made an art-form out of being wounded. Somehow managing to remain aloof and otherworldly wearing second-hand underwear. But that night? That had been different.

_Human_.

The world had never been black and white. Never been easy or fair or any of the shit you were taught growing up. But somewhere along the line she'd started enjoying the ride. Realizing she was there for the long haul, no matter what, when not that long ago she'd been determined to get him out of her life as fast as possible.

She scuffed the toe of her black heels against the mat behind the counter. Rotating sore ankles as the old woman in the front booth signalled she was ready to pay. Digging through her purse for change and probably one of those tattered, 'Jesus loves you' dollars religious nut bags gave out instead of tips.

Still, the realization she had some sort of feelings on the subject was less of a bombshell than she figured it should have been. All things considered.

She pursed her lips. Trying and failing not to smile as the feeling grew like a warm bubble in her chest.

Again, Milton was probably in the bad place, laughing his god damned ass off.

* * *

Maybe she was getting soft, or maybe there'd been no way she could have avoided it, but either way- she didn't notice when the two boys from the back booth followed her car after close. Head lights switched off in the darkness behind her.

* * *

The house was dark when she pulled up, dark save for the night light glowing faintly from the hallway. Casting a weird, off-centre red glow through the dirty glass as she turned off the engine and checked the time.

_Shit._

_It was almost two in the morning.  
_

He would've put Amber-May down at seven - eight thirty at the latest - and probably hit the sack around ten when she hadn't come home. She'd called when her boss had skipped out on her. Telling him she'd eat at the diner and not to wait up. But sometimes he did anyway. Looking up when she opened the door, blinking all slow from the couch like some big Maine Coon loopy from roasting itself in a sun beam all day. Hair stuck up in awkward feathers.

It was always the same. He'd lever himself up on his elbows, rubbing sleep from his eyes as the cushions crumpled underneath him. Sending him leaning to the side as his ankles kicked out, sleep pants flaring over bare feet. But he wouldn't smile. Not yet. Instead he'd get up and walk with her into the kitchen. Listening to her bitch about her day as she tossed her apron into dead space. _That _was when he'd smile. Picking the damn thing up every time and smoothing it over the back of a chair. Smile fully grown, just in time for her to see it as she turned around and caught it through the messy sheath of her hair.

The entire thing was something private…_hers_.

She turned her key in the lock slowly, hoping to keep the springs from screeching as she eased the screen door open and-

Intuition and the barely-there scrape of boot to gravel behind her caused her to duck at the last moment. Turning a blow that would have knocked her clean out, glancing. Crumpling her up the steps with a wounded cry as her fingers hooked into the flaking paint.

"Where is it?!"

A vice grip ripped her hair as someone wrenched it up. Dragging her up the last few steps and kicking her inside as her hearing warped. Tasting the color as blood pooled between her teeth – spraying out across the linoleum. Feeling anger bloom in her chest the same moment someone put their fucking_ boot_ in her stomach.  
"Yeah, bitch, where is it?!" a voice snarled. "I know you have it, beautiful. So hand it the fuck over!"

The force of the kick rolled her over. Giving her a flash of empty couch cushions and the door to Amber-May's room half ajar.

"Where's what?" she spat, nails biting into the spaces between the floor boards as she tried to roll away. Trying to create distance as she put herself between them and Amber-May's room. Finally getting a glimpse of the bastards as they loomed above her. The leader holding a crowbar.

_Shit._

It was those guys from the diner. Back booth. One coke. One coffee; sugar, six empty coffee creamers. Shredded napkin. No tip.

"I thought you said the bitch lived alone- there is some dude's clothes on the-"

Her heart sank when the sound of Amber-May fussing issued through the open door.

"What the fuck? A kid?" the smaller one questioned. Chipped front tooth. Stained shirt. Twitching. All red under the nose like the crackhead he probably was and-

_Oh no._

"Hey asshole, I don't care if she has an entire fucking orphanage in here. Grab her fucking purse and tie her the fuck up. I want to see those keys. She's gonna show us where the cash is and then Boucher is gonna pay for screwing us."

She kicked out, wheezing. Trying to keep Mr. Grabby from getting his hands on her as she spidered out. Looking for something to use, anything-

"And what'ya gonna do, huh? Sit here while I do all the hard work? Like always! Fuck that, bro. _You_ handle her. I wanna have a look around. There's gotta be somethin' in here to hawk. She's a chick, she's gotta have jewelry or somethin'."

The sound of a punch landing just above her head was soft - wet. Painting red over the top of her fingers as she recoiled instinctively. Throat pulling tight as Amber-May started to cry in earnest.

"You'll do the fuck what I tell you, ya hear?" the first one gritted, pounding his fist into the wall as the smaller one cursed and staggered away. "That's the plan. We stick with the plan and we both get paid. Got it?"

A tangle of rope hit the floor by her feet. Sending her scrambling away until the leader grabbed her by the hair again. Almost lifting her off the floor before dropping her again. Clipping her head against the door frame as star-bursts arced her vision from all sides. Threatening to spread.

"Screw you," she spat. Because at the end of the day, whether it was Frank, Jonah King, or these pathetic assholes, she was still her. And there wasn't a fight alive she'd take laying down.

"Your boss screwed us and left you holding the keys, honey. So now it's your problem and you're gonna fix it. Quick like. Or we know what we're going to do first. We'll come back here and-"

The bedroom door creaked, audible and damning. Making all three of them look up as the leader tossed her to the floor and started down the hall. Growling something about shutting the baby up for good as she let out of a fractured yell, trying to grab his pant legs. Leaving her with the smaller asshole as she flung out with her fist and missed his face by less than an inch. Getting her hand caught, shunted away, then slapped across the face so hard her ears rang as the bastard started untangling the loops of rope. Aiming to tie her up.

"Stay still, bitch! And give me that goddamned purse," the asshole snarled, thin hands peppered with lighter-burns and yellow patches of heroin-calloused flesh as he scrabbled at the clutch of her bag. Tossing her lipstick and tampons across the floor until he made a triumphant sound at the jingle of keys.

"Maggie Johnson, huh?" he laughed, snorting like it was funny as his hand tightened painfully around her ankle. Tossing her fake I.D to the side as he grinned at her - gap-toothed and feral-mean. "Bullshit. You don't look like a Maggie to me. Nah. In fact, you look familiar. Like- on the news or somefink'? Last year- _hey_\- you're that chick! There was a reward and everything. Hey, Jack- it's the-"

Her breath caught in her throat, stomach flipping. Hair flaring as she twisted, trying to get away. Legs fish-failing as she struggled for traction. Blinking through the dull, sparking pin-pricks of pain as she tried to get up before-

She caught sight of him first as a dark silhouette separating itself from the shadows in the hall. All bared teeth and animal eyes before The Accountant brought the cut-off pipe from under the water heater down on the leader's head with barely a blink of hesitation. Dropping him with a dull, liquid crunch that made the second one look up. Eyes going comically wide as the Accountant loomed towards them. Slowly taking shape in the low-light as the one he'd taken down with the pipe gurgled, then went still.

It was like watching something ancient and angry coming to life. Seeing the old and the new plastered across every inch of him. From the set of his shoulders to the curl of his bare toes in the carpet. Head canting to the side like he was scenting the air or maybe just listening. Blood beading down the iron pipe and trickling between his fingers until his skin started to stain the same color as the carpet underneath the asshole's head.

_Red_.

_Dead_.

The smaller one scrambled with a knife, pressing it up against her throat as he wrenched her in front of him like a shield. Forcing her to inhale the stink of nicotine and sour sweat as The Accountant advanced. One step in front of the other, killing the distance like any other predator.

"I'll cut her," the bastard quavered, shaking against her spine. "I'll do it- back off! I mean it!"

But the smirk that spread across his lips in reply was chillingly familiar.

"I don't think so," The Accountant snarled, thumbs flirting with the blood that coated the pipe before his entire body just…_shifted_. Throwing the pipe up and into the air before grabbing it and sending it flying like a spear – faster than she could scream.

The air above her head shuddered, then parted. Whistling freshly cut oxygen like a howl as it punched through the jerk's right eye, half and inch from her head. Thumping him backwards with a bleeding dead weight and taking her with him. Getting an up close and personal look at the section of pipe that'd gone through the man's eye socket like a skewer.

The Accountant was there and ripping him off her before she could so much as breathe.

"You alright?" he asked, one hand ghosting down her side where she was half-curled. Trying to catch her breath as she let him ease her upright. Handling her gently, more gently than she could remember a man having ever done. Like she was precious and strong, but made of glass bones and spreading bruises. "Piper?"

His hands were wide against the small of her back, making her shiver.

"They're dead?" she asked instead. Coughing as she kicked the asshole's knife under the couch. Brain jumping to the least complicated question as she looked around at the hallway with a groan. What a fucking mess. The blood in the carpet alone was going to-

He nodded.

"I believe so," he answered simply. Not really looking bothered by it either. "Very, in fact."

"Shit," she bit off emphatically. Leaning into the curl of his chest for a minute before she forced herself to straighten. Wondering what they were going to do now.

"Piper, are you alright?" he said again, in a way that demanded an answer whether she was ready to give one or not. Suddenly making her aware of how little he'd said her name up until now. Wondering if it was the blow she'd taken to the back of her head or something else entirely when the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the way it left his lips.  
_  
Was that even a thing?_

_Gettin' warm for the way someone said your name?_

"Yeah, _god_\- thank you," she managed, pushing her hair back from her face as his hands shadowed the curve of her hips. Keeping them just shy of touching until she leaned up against the kitchen counter. "I just got the wind knocked out of me is al-"

She trailed off, looking up through the sheath of her hair before she stopped cold.

"Jesus, you're hurt!"

For a long moment - after she'd reached up to cup his face, bringing his forehead down so the cut on his forehead was within reach - neither of them moved. Stuck still and frozen between the graze of her palm on his cheek and the way he'd immediately bowed for her. There was something about it that echoed like a whisper in the back of her mind. Something important. Something she figured she should have been paying attention to, all things considered. But here she was, already flinging herself off the deep end.

"Doesn't look deep," she murmured, careful this time as she inspected the slice. Inhaling the strange combination of shower-fresh skin and the iron-tart of blood. "Did that first one get you? I couldn't see, it was too dark."

He shook his head.

"It's nothing. And no, I- I must have grazed myself when I was getting the pipe. There wasn't much time and I couldn't risk turning on any lights. I only regret I couldn't have ended it all sooner."

"Nothing, my ass," she muttered darkly. pointing at the kitchen table as she crossed the room for the first aid kit. Peeking into Amber-May's room as she went. Satisfied she'd sent herself back off to sleep. Small mercies.

She paused in mid-step.

_Hold on._

"You mean to tell me you just killed two people, easy as pie. But nearly knocked your dumb ass out getting one of the pipes from the crawlspace?" she shrilled incredulously. Strangling a laugh into the press of her hand as it came up to cover her mouth. Feeling it coming from deep in her belly as her eyes found his and the rest came down like dominoes.

For a long moment he just blinked. Unassuming and confused before something flicked on like a switch. With a slow smile breaking ground until it turned into a grin. Eyes slitting richly as he looked at her like she was the best thing. Chuckling like dust being blown from something precious before the sound was a full-on belly laugh. Building until she was half-draped across the counter, laughing her ass off. Unable to hold back as the hilarity of it rolled out like the sunrise.

It was the first time she'd heard him laugh. _Really laugh. _

And honestly, she wanted to bottle it.

She wanted to hit pause right now and keep it.

She wanted it to last longer than its shelf-life.

She wanted it as a memory, but safer.

Because the seasons always changed. And sometimes they took the good things with it.

* * *

"Were they after the baby? You?" he asked later, tone sober as she swabbed the cut with a cap of vodka dumped on a cotton swab. Taking a swig for herself before handing him the bottle.

"More like my manager- I think," she answered darkly. Watching his fingers navigate around the bottle before lifting it to his lips. Expression not even so much as twitching as the level of alcohol in the bottle went down steadily. "Some sort of drug deal gone wrong, they didn't exactly get around to explaining."

"Still, we should be careful. That one recognized you," he pointed out, head inclining in the direction of second one still bleeding on the living room floor. "There could be others."

She rescued the bottle and took an overly generous swallow before shaking her head. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Her and Webster had taken precautions. She was three states away from where it'd all gone down and that was only after half a year of hiding out in the man's garage. Pretending to be his niece going through a rough patch.

"Well, judging by the whooping you gave them, I think me and Amber-May are in good hands," she pointed out. Returning the expression when the faint hint of amusement spread underneath his serious expression.

She took a deep breath, hesitating, before deciding to just go for it.

"That was pretty impressive," she hedged, slowly sorting through the bandages to find one long enough to cover the cut. Eventually giving up and slicing a gauze pad in half and taping it down. Figuring it would start healing on its own once the bleeding stopped. Head wounds always bled like a sonofabitch in the beginning. "See that on TV?"

He said nothing, but his shoulders set themselves in a harder line than usual.

"Hey," she urged. Crouching down in front of him to get him to look at her. Resting her hands on the knobs of his knees as the gauze on his forehead slowly stained itself dark. "Its okay not to be okay right now. What happened? Its a lot to take in."

His fingers twitched, like flicking away the spray of phantom blood.

"You saved us, me and Amber-May? The shotgun wasn't close enough for me to grab. If they'd gotten me like they wanted, someone would probably be fishing me out of a ditch in the morning," she told him privately. Ignoring the flare of her wounded pride.

"You would have thought of something," he told her simply, almost like he could sense it. "As it is, you gave me enough time to get into the laundry room. Otherwise it would have been fists against knives and somehow I doubt that would have ended well."

She shook her head. Long hair loose and desperately needing a wash. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of diner grease and a few other things she didn't want to think about.

"Maybe, or maybe if you hadn't been here, I'd be dead," she returned with a shrug. Aiming for casual even though something in her gut was burning. Almost hating him for refusing to own it. To accept that maybe she needed him just as much as he needed her. Or at least she thought he had- jury was currently out considering what he'd just done. "I mean it. So, thank you."

It was a strange stalemate until he spoke again. Filling the silence with awkward half-emotions that died before they could make it to either of their lips. Willing to kill to know just a fraction of what was going through his mind until she got her wish and couldn't put it back.

"It came naturally, he said softly, head turning into the dark. "Killing them, I mean. I could have injured them. The one holding you, the one in the hall- I didn't have to kill them. I could've- but I didn't want to, they hurt you and I-"

And yeah, she got that too.

She was about to say as much before the mood shifted and any remaining openness in his expression abruptly closed. Looking over at the bodies laying in the background. The fingers of his left hand twitching again. Like a tell.

"We should deal with them before dawn," he stated emotionlessly. Voice only slightly unsteady before he looked away again. Chin tucked and avoiding her eyes.

She nodded. Letting any remaining questions die a polite death.

She figured he'd earned a break, if only for a little while.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There is more to come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter Five**_

It wasn't until they'd dealt with the bodies, burying them on the back of the property, beside the hedgerow that she said it. Looking over at him as he settled back on the couch and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Both of them damp from the shower as she balanced Amber-May on her hip and eyed him like he was the world's dumbest man and then some.

"Don't be stupid," she told him hoarsely, angling her hips towards the bedroom in a tired, but honest invitation. "We stay together."

It wasn't the entire reason and maybe he knew it. Because his expression went from tension-tight lips to exhausted crows-feet before nodding. Running his fingers through his hair like an unfamiliar tell. Watching her watch him for the longest moment before he finally got to his feet.

He was a ghost tip-toeing along the farthest seam of her shadow as he followed her into the room. And the truth was, she was too damn tired to overthink it when she shimmied out of her cut-off shorts. Shivering into the sheets as the light flicked off and he slipped in beside her. Painfully careful not to touch until there was no space left and suddenly their legs were touching. Bare. Real. Warm.

Her lips twitched into the crease of the pillow as he got comfortable. Reaching over to tap Amber-May on the nose as the baby cooed happily. Squirmy but settling.

It was the first time she'd taken a man to bed without expectations or strings attached.

And it was good.

Just sleeping?

Just being?

With him?

_It felt good._

Because as he breathed, full and reassuring behind her, it calmed her in a way booze or a good, solid toke had _never_ been able to. Sinking down into bone and sinew as all the fear and anxiety she'd spent her life pushing down, slowly filtered out of her like water through a sieve. Knowing deep down that she was about as safe as she'd ever be. Safer than she'd been at her Mom's or on her own. Safer than with Frank, Milton or Webster. And not just in the physical way either.

She invited the idea to stay. Every nerve tingling with a gentle awareness as she felt the warmth of him slowly settle along the line of her back. Lax with exhaustion as sleep tugged like a siren. Finding herself gradually breathing in time as her lashes grazed the skin under her eyes.

Was this that feeling people talked about? The one she'd hated herself for chasing? Or was she just stupid enough to believe it? Life had taught her the difference more than once. But for some reason she was still here- still willing to hope. And frankly, the angry voice inside her head that was always quick remind her that good things didn't happen to girls like her was surprisingly late on the mark.

She pursed her lips, letting herself consider it. Trip falls and all.

* * *

The bed was small for one. With a grown man and a baby it was tight, but somehow they made it work. He was a solid, malleable force behind her, while Amber-May fussed against her chest. Slowly dropping off to sleep as her heartbeat stopped hammering against her ribs – soothed by his warm weight. Hyper-aware that if he wanted too, he could curl around her completely. Breathing her in as his muscles uncoiled in fractions. Like he was being soothed by her just as much as she was with him.

For some reason that was comforting enough that sleep quickly followed.

* * *

She woke up sometime during the night to find the baby sleeping in her crib. Skin warm from where he'd rolled even closer during the night. Breathing syrup-slow and content through the realization before her head fell back into the pillows. Registering on some level that he was _right_ _there_ – scooped up behind her - cock half-hard against her ass as the tempo of his breathing tempted her right back down with him.

All in all, she didn't much mind.

Hell, maybe it was even about time.

God knows she was no good at this shit.

* * *

The next time she woke up, his toes were dragging against the working-rough of her soles. Chin tucked shyly into her hair and absolutely awake. She wasn't sure how she could tell, but she could. But instead of letting all that drift her back to sleep, she tipped her head back and looked at him. And just like she knew he would, he was right there looking back at her. Soft and pillow-creased with crusty eyes and dry lips and honestly- how could she not?

She turned into him with a rustle of sheets and kissed him slow.

_An introduction._

He took to it quickly, somehow making up for the awkward angle with a sort of finesse that came from experience. Like somehow, somewhere, he'd done all this before. And he'd been good at it. _Damn_ _good_ _at_ _it_.

His hands were in her hair, cupping her face as his lower lip dragged against hers. Kisses languid, warm and unhurried. Like what she figured growing up was supposed to feel like if was just a collection of the good parts. It wasn't anything like she was used too, this was a slow burn that rolled through her like dry heat – both of them too beat up and sore to get hot and heavy – but somehow still managing to rev her up all the same.

She stretched underneath him when he parted her thighs with the blunt of his knee. Mouth lush and wet as he kissed into the curve of her hip. Dragging stubble down her skin like exploration. Like she was golden and dangerous and he wanted to know every inch.

He swallowed the soft sound she made with his lips when he pressed his thumb against the fat of her clit. Wanting to rub her thighs together just to keep the sensation going, only he didn't let her.

"Let me?" he murmured. "Piper…"

She smiled into the dark, for once out of words.

Instead she brought him down for another steady, addictive kiss and let him know that way.

He didn't need anything else.

Treating her to the endearing nudge of his cock and a half-whispered curse she could have sworn wasn't even in English before he was sliding in with a stuttered hitch of his hips. Breathing like he was dying as his back curved. Resting his head against her belly for a long, ageless moment, until finally- _finally_ starting to move.

Then they were both flying.

* * *

"Do you like work?" he asked a few days later. All tangled up in the sheets next to her as he ran his hand down her side. Counting ribs and tracing every bit of her he could reach as the sunlight shone through the binds. Soaking them in dusty rays of auburn-yellow.

"Does anyone?" she returned, spine arching against the mattress as she stretched. Very much aware it had a secondary affect. Making his eyes drop down to the soft fall of her breasts as she raised her arms above her head and laced her fingers together. Both of them naked as anything - with no hope of finding their clothes for at least another half hour.

It depended on how long Amber-May was willing to wait for breakfast.

"Do you?"

She snorted, legs scissoring as she followed it up with a yawn.

"Hell, no."

"Then why do you do it? Why do you do something that makes you unhappy? Every day?" he continued, leaning against the brace of his elbow. Chest dotted with a thin spattering of dark brown hair, making her want to follow where it disappeared under the sheets.

"Because you need money to live," she replied blandly, tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear. Smiling when she realized it'd gotten long on him. She liked it. "Capitalism is a bitch. And sometimes you don't get what you want. I never finished high school, which was stupid- but you gotta work with what you got. And right now, that means waiting tables."

"What would you do? If you could be anything- _do anything_?"

She stalled. Realizing no one had ever asked her before. And maybe more damning, she hadn't asked herself. She'd barely let herself think about it. It was hard enough just surviving. But having impossible dreams in the mix? Well, shit.

"Please," he hedged, staring at her all soulful and strong. Making her want to squirm at the focus. "Tell me."

She sighed, wetting her lips.

"I thought, a long time ago, that I might want to go to school for nursing. To help people. Not to mention make a decent paycheck the same time," she admitted. Shaking her head and scrunching her nose when he nodded – like he was taking her seriously.

"I think it would be a good fit," he returned significantly, smiling softly.

_Idiot_.

Still, she smiled back anyway, knocking his shoulder with hers. Rolling on top of him with a lazy hook of her leg. Grinding herself down slowly as he looked up at her with dark eyes. Inviting her to do what she wanted as she bit her lip and felt him firm against her. Bringing him to her center as he hazed her name into the air again like a prayer.

* * *

A few weeks after that, she caught him in the back by the shed, fingering a large coin.

It wasn't even a coin, more like one of those old casino tokens that weren't worth nothin' but a free play.

But it made her freeze all the same.

She'd never told him about the coin.

Not even in passing.

It _could_ mean nothing.

It _could_ be muscle memory or just him being weird.

But as she watched him from the back porch, tense and quiet as he looked out at the summer sky-line, the smile that'd been a fixture on her face for the last few months lessened a bit.

* * *

It all came to a head by the weekend.

She came home from work in the middle of the day - picking up a rare afternoon shift from one of the older ladies whose gout was acting up – to find him looking through the classifieds of a paper they weren't even supposed to get with a note pad and a pen.

"What's up?" she asked, fiddling with the knot of her apron as she watched the line of his back stiffen. Already sensing alarm bells.

"Amber-May is napping, I figured since she didn't sleep much a few hours won't mess up her schedule too bad," he answered evasively, pen tapping distractedly on an ad he'd circled.

_Heading to Atlanta on the 5__th__ – if you have gas money and need a ride – call-_

The air might as well have been sucked out of the room.

Tomorrow was the 5th.

"What is this?" she demanded, hand coming down on the edge of the paper. Tasting the acid-reflex of stale coffee and the turnover she'd grabbed before leaving. All of it threatening to come back on her as her mind went a million miles a minute.

_He couldn't be thinking about leaving…could he?_

He exhaled slowly.

"Piper, we need to talk…"

She nearly fucking decked him.

"Hell yes we do," she snarled. Hating herself for being so caustic. For showing all her cards up front. Hating herself for getting so invested. For caring. For wanting him to stay.

She should have fucking known better.

_They never stayed._

People always left, one way or another.

"Piper," he started. "I can't do this. _No_, that's not what I mean. I mean, I can't_ keep_ doing this. Us, _like this. _I need to leave. We're both stalled here. You and me. Me because I was hoping the answers were going to find me. But they haven't. And I need to start figuring out if they're out there at all. And you- well."

"You don't need to leave to do that," she shot back, hands on her hips. Needing to hold onto something so she didn't put her fist into something else. "We could do it, together."

He shook his head, getting to his feet as she paced aggressively. Thinking about the coin and the way she'd caught him staring off into the distance more than once lately. She'd tried to justify it by him being bored or needing some time alone. Now it all made sense. This had been on his mind for a while now.

"It isn't just that. You've taken care of me for long enough. I want to return the favor. _I need to_. But…something's wrong in my head. Something is missing. I feel like I'm…broken…broken parts. I need a purpose. A job."

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Turning away to face the banged up wall. Knowing if she didn't he'd be able to see the glimmer of tears she was trying to blink back. Wondering when she'd turned into such a weak bitch as he shifted behind her. Disturbing the air like he'd started to reach out, but thought better of it.

"I want to stay," he murmured quietly. Gentle, earnest and making her believe it too. Knowing deep down this was something he needed to do. And if she was a better person, she'd let him go without needling him with her wounded pride. But she_ wasn't_ better.

"Then stay," she told him. Like it was simple. Like it didn't feel like there was a vice squeezing her chest.

The quiet dragged.

He hitched a breath, but she beat him to it. Turning around to look at him and regretting it instantly when his eyes said everything he couldn't put into words.

"Save it," she said hollowly, shutting down. Tossing the keys and a twenty dollar bill on the table beside the newspaper. Already feeling the hole he was going to leave. "You'll need to get to the pay phone beside the Wendy's if you are gonna to give that number a call. Bring the car back when you're done, then get your shit and go."

"Piper…I-"

But something in her expression made him stop. Head ducking down, eyes downcast. Looking far too much like a dog that'd been beaten one to many times before he nodded. Not knowing how to fix it now that the damage was done.

"Thank you," he said simply, quiet and sad as he grabbed his jacket and the keys and backed slowly – carefully - out of her life. "For everything…all of it."

Somehow it was worse than if they'd had a screaming fight.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. - There is more to come.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter Six**_

"Heard your stray left," Webster commented one night, a couple months after the Accountant left. He was up on one of his visits, the first since it'd happened. He'd wanted to come up half a dozen times after the Accountant had appeared on her front lawn, but she'd always put him off. Knowing nothing good would come out of that kind of confrontation. Reminding him every time he checked in that she could take care of herself.

Her head came up almost violently. Nearly dropping her beer as the muggy heat threatened to thicken the action. Clumsy as bottled-up grief and more than a few nights of speaking to a bottle of something she _definitely_ couldn't afford threatened to come back up on her.

"Figured you'd finally come to your senses and kicked him to the curb when he showed up a couple weeks back. Looking for that I.D and a car that'd make it to the city," Webster commented. Taking a swig of beer as he looked out at the skyline from where they were sitting on the back steps.

She chewed on the words for a long time before letting them free.

"I didn't," she grunted, picking at the label of her beer. "He left."

Even to her it sounded bitter.

Like she cared.

_Fuck_.

He looked at her and saw more than she was comfortable with before clearing his throat and putting her out of her misery.

"Well shit, Piper. How was I supposed to know? He just showed up one day and told me to finish up his I.D. I figured you'd finally come to your senses and kicked him out."

Her boot heel dragged against the pitted cement steps.

"What name did he choose?" she asked quietly, ears ringing like someone had been screaming.

"He told me to pick one," Webster returned, tipping his beer to get the last of it. "Said he wouldn't be using it long anyway. Whatever that means."

But that wasn't what she wanted.

_She wanted to know_.

Names were given, after all.

"What was it?"

Webster gave her a look before answering. A good long side-eye she returned by staring right back at him. Strong as anything. Daring him to ask what was obviously on his mind until he stood down and shook his head.

"Stewart."

She snorted, drunker than she thought she was as she wavered through a coughing-laugh.

"You're a dick, Webster."

"I know," the man chuckled, scratching his head for a good long moment as they sat there, minding the sunset. "I can't pretend I'm not glad he's gone. He's dangerous, Piper. Memory or not."

"He saved us," she pointed out. Hissing air between her teeth at the automatic need to defend him. Eyes straying to the pile of scrap metal she'd only just stopped having nightmares about.

"Yeah, I know," Webster rasped, clearing out his sinuses with a wet sound before he set his beer to the side and looked at her. "And don't think that's the only reason I gave him a good car and some cash to get him where he needed to go. I know what he did. But whatever he's mixed up in? It isn't any good for you or the baby and you know it. Milton would tell you the same."

She used to think that, but now she was on the opposite side of the equation. Thinking about lazy Sundays and how he'd liked to dance Amber-May across the carpet. How somewhere along the line, she'd gotten used to the three of them eating dinner and driving around for no reason than to enjoy the roar of an engine. Eating up those lonely country roads, no words needed. And yeah- it was safe to say she missed the warm weight of him behind her. Steady breaths drawing her down, even on the nights she swore she wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

* * *

Three months after Webster had come and gone, a plain white envelope with no return address appeared on top of the stack of junk mail that'd been shoved into the slot in the door. For a long moment, she just stared at it, letting Amber-May crawl around on the carpet in her apple sauce stained jumper. Running her fingers down the painstakingly neat block of letters she'd recognize anywhere. Throat hitching at the sight of her name in his hand.

Inside the envelope was a plain white card, centered with a puddle of silver wax, and crowned with a thumb print in the center. And while she didn't understand why, she couldn't help but feel that was a message in itself. Only she didn't have much time to think about it, considering a check for two thousand dollars fluttered down to the kitchen table the moment she opened it.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment. Feeling something inside her shrivel.

_Jesus Christ._

At first she was afraid the card was blank, but once the narrow sheet that'd made the check less obvious fell away, she could read the rest.

'_We all need a purpose. We all need to follow the voices inside ourselves that remind us of our worth. Even if the road getting there is difficult. Even if you are afraid of change. Please accept this as a thank you for all you've done for me and use it to help find your own way.'_

She didn't cry.

She didn't have the energy.

Instead, she walked out to the backyard and looked out at the rolling fields as his ghost flickered in the spaces between the afternoon shadows. Facing him down as he looked at her with those same unfathomable eyes.

"When you finally find yourself, tell him he's a bastard," she whispered, crumpling the card in her fist. Hair kicking up in the wind as every intrusive thought locked inside her urged her to just throw back her head and _scream_.

* * *

She almost ripped them both up – the card and the check - just to spite him.

But in the end, she couldn't.

It was the only part of him she'd been able to touch since he'd left.

* * *

Money didn't solve everything, but it sure as hell made things easier.

And the truth was, when she finally cashed the check, she'd never had so much of it.

It was enough to get a third-hand laptop and enroll in classes to boost her GED. Getting the grades she needed to get into that nursing program at the local college she'd told him about. The one she'd circled and put up on the fridge like it meant something more than an impossible dream.

She enrolled Amber-May in a good daycare program at an Early Education Center that watched her while she was working and studying. Biting her lip like she could take a chunk out of her own pride in advance every time a new check appeared.

None of the letters ever had a return address.

She wanted to hate him for that.

But she was starting to understand why.

* * *

The day she was accepted into the nursing program she danced Amber-May across the carpet, laughing. Smile only falling when her eyes strayed to the couch and his empty spot. Knowing he'd be proud. But mostly just wishing she had a way to tell him everything she kept close to her chest. Like the way she was walking lighter these days. And how waking up was easier. Hoping he was finding his place, like she was slowly finding her.

She didn't dare dream for anything more.

She wasn't that brave.

* * *

She was ass deep in financial aid paperwork when the sound of boots biting into the gravel drive made her look up. Catching sight of a black three-piece suit with a coal-grey vest and a sky-blue tie. Suit jacket slung over his shoulder as one hand came up to shield his eyes from the glare. All gentle crows' feet, soft brown hair and-

He caught her when she hit him running. Lifting her easy as anything as she crossed her legs behind his back and kissed him. Forgetting everything she thought she'd say or do if he ever came back. Especially her pride. Tossing it right out the window in favor of kissing him. Embracing everything she'd missed as he returned it all ten-fold. Devouring her mouth until air became and issue and they parted.

"I'm home," he rasped, smiling small. Nose brushing against hers in the best possible way before pressing a reverent kiss into her hair. "If you'll have me…"

She didn't know how to put the feelings in her chest into words so she just wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him until his legs gave out. Sprawling them out across the grass and gravel like every happy ending she'd never imagined could be hers.

* * *

"I didn't want to leave," he murmured later, when they were curled up together on the couch. Holding Amber-May tucked against his shoulder as the baby slept soundly. One pudgy hand curled tight around his collar. Like even in sleep she was making sure he couldn't leave.

"Then why did you?" she asked automatically. Unable to help herself.

He tilted his head.

She sighed, letting her head drop back against his shoulder. Playing with the fingers draped over her waist. Taking him in with every breath. Committing it all to memory just in case she woke up tomorrow and this was all some sort of cruel fever dream that would take her apart in ways she'd probably never recover from.

"I know why you did. And you were right. But I still hated it."

"So did I," he admitted, smiling with sleepy eyes. Somehow managing to impart months of sleepless nights and loneliness with just a look. Something that covered everything from achy chests to hours spent looking up at the ceiling, wondering if what he was doing was right. If he should have left. If she'd have him back. "The truth is, I only ever left so I could come back."

It shouldn't have made sense, but somehow it did.

"Damn right, you did," she told him, allowing it when he took her hand and squeezed it before leaning in and kissing her like it was the first time all over again.

And maybe it was.

* * *

"You're shitting me."

He smiled up at her, eyes half-closed like a contented tom cat sprawled in a sunbeam as the hours ticked by and the baby was finally down for the night. Finding themselves automatically gravitating to the bedroom as he took up all the spaces he'd left with easy grace.

"You're telling me you went to the city and what...became an _actual_ accountant?"

He nodded, lounging around in a blue long sleeve shirt and some soft looking sweatpants she was already making plans to steal. Wondering idly if she could make the waist clinch tight enough so they'd fit.

"It came naturally," he admitted, watching her snoop through his suitcase. Running her hand down a half-dozen suits and ties. The corner of her lip quirking up. "I'm quite good at it. I was able to establish enough connections to be able to work remotely. That was why I came back. The moment I was able to work outside an office- anywhere- I booked the first flight back here. It's the only place I wanted to be."

The lump in her throat was Everest high, but she swallowed it anyway.

_Some things never changed._

_But some things do._

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. - There will be one more chapter.

**Reference:**

\- Stewart is a Scottish surname (also used as a masculine given name) possibly of pre-7th century Old English origin, derived from 'stigeweard,' the genitive prefix stige meaning "hall", and the suffix weard meaning "guardian" or "warden".


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the movie "Drive Angry." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a while ago and then lost steam for it. Now I am back and determined to get it dusted off and completed. Jesus Christ, thank god it is done.

**Disclaimer:** couple of years post movie, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, drama, angst, romance, mild sexual content, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers.

**Feed me Faith**

_**Chapter Seven**_

They were out and about a few weeks later - enjoying the day after an appointment with a local realtor - when a frisson of something dangerous tingled down her spine. Her head came up. Coffee cup slipping clean through her fingers as they slowed to a stop. Milky brown liquid sloshing across her new kicks as the cup rolled idly away, sugar-coating gravity.

She looked over to ask if he'd felt it too, only to realize he'd gone ridged beside her.

_Something was wrong._

"Amber May," she whispered, hair spiraling loose around her neck as they met eyes. "We need to get the baby. _Now_."

He nodded tightly and grabbed her hand. Running for the car and burning rubber as they peeled off towards the daycare center.

* * *

She didn't breathe properly again until the baby was safe in the car carrier. Too hyped up on adrenaline to think about what the daycare staff thought when they'd screeched into the parking lot and ran inside.

"What do you think it is?" she asked nervously, drumming her fingers on the passenger side door as she kept one eye on Amber May strapped into the backseat and the other on the road.

He fisted the wheel tightly.

"I don't know," he answered. Honest and completely unhelpful.

"The gun is at home," she murmured, like a low curse.

He didn't say anything.

Instead, he just slammed down on the gas.

Some things didn't need words.

* * *

"_Get what we need, then get out, I'll keep watch. We can't stay here. Not until-"_

She was grabbing the last of the baby's things when they finally ran out of luck.

Feeling that same tingle of warning come back in full force as group of rough looking assholes appeared around either side of the house. Swaggering meaningfully into view in broad _fucking_ daylight – blocking them in and obviously spoiling for a fight.

There were four of them. The one she was willing to bet money was in charge was sporting an old-looking pistol, while the others had bats and broken-off pipes. And worse? They were eying the Accountant like he was fresh meat they had no intention of paying for.

"Well, look who it is boys…"

The Accountant had his back to the car, keeping himself between them and Amber-May who was still strapped into the back of the charger. Heart jumping into her throat as she watched him look between the four of them without a single spark of recognition.

_He didn't remember._

_Whoever they were, he didn't know them. Not anymore._

_Jesus, shit._

"I heard he got booted outta management, but I never thought it'd be for a demotion…"

The scent of hell-char and rot – the same stink that'd been in the air the day he'd appeared on her front lawn – made her want to gag as the four of them advanced. Looking like all kinds of bad news as the Accountant stood his ground.

"Who are you? Do you know me?" he asked. Voice steady, but urgent. Like maybe he thought he could talk his way out of this as he raised his hands to show he wasn't a threat.

The leader, grizzled and mean with biceps bigger than her thighs barked a pitching laugh. Like a dog getting kicked. Before pointing lazily with his pistol.

"Know you? Oh yeah…we know you alright."

She tore herself away from the window long enough to pull the shotgun out from under the bed. Cocking it quietly before grabbing the box of shells and spilling them across the floor. Fingers trembling as she cussed out a muted blue-streak and grabbed at them.

"We have some things to square with you," the weedy one with the bat rasped. Lisping with a mouthful of broken teeth. "It's only fair you answer for them…innt?"

She inhaled shakily as she aimed down the sight through the open window.

"I don't-" the Accountant started. Confused and tense before the leader pulled something that glinted from his pocket and flipped it into the air with a smug, snarling smile.

_It was the coin._

The same one the Accountant had-

_No_.

_They weren't taking him away._

_She wouldn't let them._

"Got your little toy…" the leader laughed, spitting off to the side with a trashy twist of his lips. Promising violence as he dug the toe of his boot in the dirt. "Haven't figured out how to use it just yet, but I reckon I've got time to learn…don't you?"

"I don't remember," the Accountant tried, even though they were way past that. "Whatever you're here for…whatever I did… it's gone. _It isn't me._ Not anymore. I found myself here one day, no memories, no name. That's all I know..."

"You think that matters? You're the reason we were down there in the first place," another hissed. Backed up immediately by the third man holding a pipe. "All high and mighty with your fucking scales. Judging us. What we've gone through? That's on you, hoss!"

The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the air around them seemed to thicken. Leaving her jumpy as a sudden wind scattered leaves through the gravel and long grass just outside the window.

"Like we give a shit," the third man rasped, sporting a scar across his throat. Like someone had tried to slit his throat once and failed. "The tables have turned, asshole. Looks like we'll be calling the shots from now on…don't it?"

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Tasting salt, stale caffeine, blood. Heart pounding in her chest as the Accountant glanced up at the window, giving her a barely-there nod. But ending up sharing far more than that as she swallowed hard. Watching his hands curl into fists.

"We didn't come this far not to have some fun," the leader agreed, leveling the pistol at the Accountant's chest with a lazy flick before pressing the trigger. Smirking when it clicked and the Accountant flinched. "You think I'd waste a bullet on you before 'tha fun has even started? You gotta whole 'nother thing comin'. Get 'im boys!"

She didn't hesitate. She blasted the closest one before the bastard could finish his lunge. Hardly able to breathe as she missed the second and sprayed dirt from the ricochet over the leader's shoes. Desperately trying to keep track of him as the Accountant ducked and sprinted to the side, leading them away from the house and car.

She hit another on the shoulder and sent him howling to the ground just before the leader got off a shot. Missing her by inches and showering her with wood and broken glass. Forcing her to whirl away, back to the wall. Glass slicing bloody grooves in the underside of her knees as she went.

"Get the bitch!"

She was about to jump back up and rain down some good damned judgement of her own when the wall shook with a sudden impact. Making her lurch up and around, gun up, catching a glimpse of the Accountant and the leader tussling at the base of the house.

It was an even fight. But the leader had the gun and it was shaking jerkily. Unloading into the sky as they rolled in the dirt. Unable to get off a clean shot as the leader kneed the Accountant in the gut and-

The one she hadn't gotten snuck up from behind and brought his pipe down on the back of the Accountant's head. Crumpling him to the ground the same moment a horrible, piecing cry left her throat. Seeing red as she screamed down the sight and found her mark.

She felt the impact against her ribs – heart-sore - when she pulled the trigger. Hair flying in front of her face as she scrambled down the hall and exploded out of the front door. Tasting the death of a future she hadn't let herself accept until recently as he stayed sprawled and unmoving on the ground. _No._

The sound a bullet leaving a gun shattered through the air, bringing her up short.

She'd forgotten about the leader the moment she was free of the door.

But she didn't die.

She didn't feel a damn thing.

It was only when she looked up that she realized why.

_The bullet had plain stopped in mid-air._

"What the fucking-"

But the asshole didn't have time to finish. Because before they could do anything, the ground underneath the four men broke open somehow. Exploding dust and dirt into the air as the sides rose jagged and sharp - like continents meeting. Blasting heat like it was Satan's god damned ant hill as the leader yelled something unintelligible. Half-shrouded in the toxic black smoke.

She reeled back as the broken ground crackled with white-hot flames, echoing a chorus of unearthly cries that shook everything. Tumbling her off the concrete steps as she hit the dirt and crawled towards the Accountant, dragging the gun. Eyes wide as the two men still standing screamed and tried to run. But the broken earth held fast. _No- not the ground_. A thousand pale, bloody hands were reaching up from each of the holes. Fisting pant legs and shoes, dragging them under.

The leader screamed, nails raking the dirt. Eyes so wide all she could see were the shocked whites as he scrambled at the unforgiving gravel. Trying to find something grab as the hands squeezed around his legs and pulled him _down-down-down_.

She watched, feeling nothing but a smug, exhausted rage as their eyes met.

"Go to hell," she rasped, barely audible over the deafening roar of tortured souls coming from below. But she knew he heard her. It was all there on his face before his body shifted and he lost his last handful of dirt. Sliding out of sight with a shattered howl as the earth rumbled, yawned and smoothed back into place.

They were all gone.

It was over.

_Oh fuck, it was over._

The silence that dragged afterwards was choking. Holding her there, breathless for an age as each spot smoked down to the char of dirt and weedy grass. The only thing that jump-started the world back into breathing again was when Amber May let go of a single, reedy little cry from the car. Enough to tell her she was fine – before going quiet again.

The Accountant didn't move.

"Hey…hey…it's over…they're gone," she murmured, easing his head into her lap. Blood chilling cold when a smear of red wisped across the white of her shirt as his head lolled weakly. "Come on…please."

_No._

"You can't…" she told him, searching for a pulse as his eyes stayed closed. Feeling her own well up with tears when she realized her heart was pounding too loud for her to tell if it was his pulse she was feeling – or her own. Desperately trying not to breakdown as her fingers dug into the meat of his shoulders, shaking him. "Please."

_Not him._

She traced the line of his jaw with her fingers. Memorizing the angles. How the sharpness that had once lurked there – like an animal hidden in the dark – had softened since he'd found his way to her.

"You can't," she whispered again, pressing a salty kiss to his temple. Willing it to be as her chest clenched vice-tight and threatening. Rocking back and forth as his cheek tipped into the slot of her ribs. "Don't leave… You're the Accountant…you can't-"

Everyone leaves.

Everyone in her entire life had done it.

Her dad had walked out before she was born.

Her mom.

Boyfriends.

Friends.

One by one, they'd all left.

Forcing her to carry all the bad blood, the debt, the emotional burn-out and shitty legacies.

And she couldn't-

She couldn't take it.

Not this time.

_Not_ him.

She wanted that impossible miracle, just once.

_Please._

"He isn't the Accountant anymore… I am," a familiar voice replied.

Her head whipped up, blinded by the afternoon sun.

"Milton!"

Because it was.

And it wasn't.

The corner of Milton's lip curved upwards like a tic. As if he'd forgotten how to smile. Looking down at the prone man in her arms with the same aloof interest she recognized like breathing. The Accountant, _the old one,_ had looked at them like that. Like they were tiny and unimportant. Like he had a million things to do but was here, now, and was slightly annoyed by it.

Acid reflux rose in the back of her throat as she looked up at him. Hating everything from the blue suit and cream-colored tie to the blank expression that was plastered across his face. Even the way his long hair was slicked back and neat in a ponytail that curled around the base of his neck. It wasn't him. It looked like him, but it wasn't. It was more like someone new was wearing his skin. Making her understand, perhaps for the first time, what being the Accountant actually meant.

"…Milton?" she asked hesitantly.

The man merely tilted his head, looking at them with animal curiosity. Bored and tepid before smoothly crouching down beside them. Making her tense, but not scramble away. The Accountant's head heavy in her lap.

"Not quite," Milton answered.

Her lips firmed into a slashing line, cutting across her face.

She believed him.

Milton frowned, looking at the Accountant like he was seeing something she couldn't before reaching forward and resting his hand across the man's forehead.

"It is not your time," Milton told him simply. "Not for a while yet."

Nothing changed on the surface. There was no glow or flash of light. But she felt it anyway. The slow twitch of muscles jumping under her hands before the Accountant's chest slowly began to rise and fall. The wound on the back of his head closing, leaving only the blood. Making her heart leap in her chest when the Accountant's eyes lids fluttered.

He was going to be alright.

Some how she just knew.

When she turned to look at Milton, he was already staring at her. Waiting.

"I don't understand," she whispered, suddenly bereft of all the questions she'd told herself she'd ask if she ever got the chance. "What happened to you? What happened to him?"

He rose to his feet, looming over her like some large-crested desert bird. Shaking the cuff of his dress shirt down his wrist with muted flare. Making her think, for a long, terrible moment, that he wasn't going to answer her. That he was going to disappear with the next haze of wind and she'd never see him again.

"Its a linage, Piper," Milton told her, nearly destroying her with the long pause. Saying her name in a way that was devoid of any real familiarity. Nothing like the way he'd said it back then. "Instead of being passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, it is passed on to those who have sinned, but still have enough good in them to be saved. Think of it as how you understand purgatory. Everything he was is now part of me. I know everything he knew, just as he knew everything from the one who came before him. When he finished serving his time, the job fell to me. Much to everyone's surprise…"

"He was human…" she whispered, looking down at him with fractured awe. Realizing that until this moment she'd just assumed he was-

"Yes," Milton agreed, nodding. "He was a King in the old times. When he died, his heart was weighed and the scales balanced in the middle. Deserving of neither heaven nor hell, but salvageable to both. Those chosen serve until their sins are paid in full. Then they are given a second chance, to live and die again and be judged. He paid off his debt and was released. He was in the position for a long time, longer than any of the others. And for good reason. When he died, he asked to take on the sins of those who had fought and died for him on the battlefield - his predecessor was intrigued and accepted."

"Why doesn't he remember anything?" she asked, in so far over her head she didn't bother trying to swim to shore. Eyes welling with tears she didn't feel she had a reason for other than emotional exhaustion. Cradling the man's head in her lap as she looked up at Milton and shook her head. "Why me? Why us? Why here?"

Milton looked at her like it was obvious. Staring at her with eyes so old she didn't think the number of years even existed.

"Because he wanted to be," Milton replied, hands posed neatly behind his back. "The others were born into new lives. What you might call a miracle, many born to couples that thought they couldn't conceive. But his wish was to be here. His reasons are none of my concern. It wasn't something he asked for, but it was something he thought about in the moment – an instinctual want that even he probably wouldn't be able to tell you why."

She knew why.

She didn't know why he'd felt it then or how.

But she knew what that feeling had grown into.

She looked down at him, watching his eyes move under the lids. Thinking about the moment she'd found him sprawled and naked in the dirt. The moment he'd pushed her behind him at the prison. The way he stared out at the fields behind the house like he-

"You seem to get your fair share of other peoples cast-offs," Milton observed flatly, looking down at the dust that had dirtied his dress shoes with an empty, fastidious look that didn't suit him.

"He isn't a cast-off and neither is she," she shot back, angry. Looking over at the charger and the top of Amber-May's car seat as the sun reflected off the hood.

Milton looked at her then, much like he'd never seen anything quite like her.

Like how the Accountant had looked at her in the prison tower.

Amused and above it all.

"What was his name?" she asked suddenly, looking down when the Accountant made a soft sound, slowly stirring. Realizing she was desperate to know. Needing to call him something that wasn't a title or a made-up name they both hated.

"Does it matter?" Milton asked, not judging, not even curious. Just flat.

"Yes, it does…" she answered firmly. "He's lost so much already. Everyone needs a name."

Milton eyes went far away. Gazing inward like time wasn't linear and he was looking back to when the Accountant had been a man – a King. Gapped in blood, memory and dust as he shifted through the centuries to tease it out for the first time since history had forgotten him.

"William."

She smiled, cracking with emotion as the taste of tears slipped past her lips. She didn't thank him, knowing the gratitude would be lost on him. Instead, her attention was caught by that same ripple of awareness she felt down to her toes. Looking up at him and knowing it was almost time.

And it was that fact, more than anything, that made her brave.

"Hey, Milton? You look like a tool."

The corner of his lips tipped up again – gifting her with the shadow of a smile.

"Take care of him," Milton told her softly, before looking off in the direction of the car for the first time. Right hand twitching like a tell until he looked down and it went still. "And her."

The tension in her chest lessened, he was still in there…somewhere.

And someday, he'd be free again.

Maybe they'd even share the same air again – if she was lucky.

_Even in hell, there was mercy._

"I have it handled," she murmured, pushing back the rest. Everything she wanted to say. Knowing he knew. Not wanting to be made vulnerable by the fact that right now, he probably didn't care.

"I know you do," he answered, straightening his suit with the kind of bored flair that legends were made of. "I won't see you again…not for a while. Mind keeping it that way, for old time sake?"

She breathed out a shaky, laughing exhale. Not having to look up to know he was already gone. There was something about the way the air adjusted itself in his absence. Like it was rushing back to fill the space. Wondering, as she closed her eyes into it, how long Milton would have to wait before he was given the same second chance.

It felt surprisingly fair, all things considered. Something she hadn't expected from the likes of heaven and hell. Milton was bad, sure, but not the kind of bad that earned you the blackest kind of forever.

She was knocked out of her thoughts when the Accountant – _William_ – woke up. Tensing under her hands as she shook her head and hummed something soothing. Brushing his hair back from his face. A bubble of something warm and good growing in the middle of her chest. Spreading spring-eager tendrils like the two of them could meet like that – on the inside of her skin.

"Hey, it's okay. It's over. They're gone."

She didn't know it was something she wanted to do until she was already there. Leaning down and kissing him deeply as his hand came up to thumb her cheek. Smudging her tears as he made no effort to get up. Looking up at her like she was everything as his eyes fluttered open.

"Piper…_Piper_."

She smiled.

"I know your name," she told him, smiling as confused wonderment flashed across his face. Getting properly caught in the gentle crow's feet and laugh-lines. Making her wonder if he knew how fucking _gorgeous _he was before he caught her off-guard and surged up with quiet strength. Crushing the messy waves of her hair as he kissed her back the same way. Turning them into a tangled mess of lingering touches and closeness that spoke of the kind of familiarity she'd never imagined she'd be lucky enough to experience, until now.

"Nothing is for keeps, but I want to keep you," she told him, taking that last leap running. Feeling naked, but no where near vulnerable as the long grass rippled in the wind.

"I love you too," he rasped, nosing into her neck with uncharacteristic shyness as she tossed back her head and laughed. Feeling too many good things not to hold back as he nipped at her throat playfully.

And yeah, she figured he did too.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.


End file.
